


Pace is the Trick

by templemarker



Series: Mind Over Time [1]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Established Relationship, Kinktober, Kinktober 2018, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 10:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16156970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/templemarker/pseuds/templemarker
Summary: "Slow down," Eliot chokes out, half-laughing, definitely tipsy on kind-of vodka and infinitely patient with his big fucking dick. "You don't have anything to prove to me, Q, don't fuck up your throat."





	Pace is the Trick

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober 2018: 001 - Deep-Throating | ~~Inflation~~ | ~~Face-Sitting~~ | ~~Masks~~
> 
> Set during 3x05, "A Life in the Day", a week or more after Quentin kisses Eliot.

Quentin wouldn't say he's _practiced_ at this, but he knows what the fuck he's doing. 

"Slow down," Eliot chokes out, half-laughing, definitely tipsy on kind-of vodka and infinitely patient with his big fucking dick. "You don't have anything to prove to me, Q, don't fuck up your throat."

Quentin peers up from Eliot's groin, fingers indenting Eliot's jutting hips, and tries not to glare. He pulls off of Eliot's cock with a wet, popping sound and says, "I know what I'm doing."

Eliot throws his head back, laughing at the night sky, hands dusted in chalk where he's braced against the tiles. They did it slow the first few times, like they were trying to figure out the steps to some old dance, skin remembering the feel of them despite the emotion-and-gin hangovers leaving the particulars of their previous encounter fuzzy. It was nice. Quentin is happy. 

But now he wants _this_ , the feel of a glans pushing against his palate, hovering at the entrance to his throat, that perfect sick fuck of _more_ when a cock dips into his throat. He hasn't had that in....a long time. Definitely since undergrad, that one summer internship he had with a highly convenient, no-bullshit no-romance guy who'd been happy to exchange handjobs and blowjobs on their lunch break or during happy hour without asking for anything more than an orgasm in return. Quentin liked that guy. J-name. It was a while ago. 

Which is why he wants this _now_. It's been a long fucking time since Quentin was with a guy long enough for repeats, long enough to trust someone enough to let him get down deep, so it aches the next day. 

He ducks down again, sucking hard against the head of Eliot's cock, feeling him twitch and shudder beneath Quentin's palms. Quentin tongues the underside, pressing up against the vein, pulsing his tongue in a steady interval where the frenulum meets the shaft. Eliot laughs again, cutting himself off with a high-octave moan, and Quentin pulls off to lick his hand and wrap it around Eliot, brushing his balls, which are getting higher and tighter with everything Quentin does. 

"Fuck, okay," Eliot says, panting slightly, "I believed your college cocksucking adventures before, but now I _really believe_ , Quentin. Fuck. I can't believe we haven't done this before now."

"Yes, you can," Quentin responds, rolling his eyes, jacking Eliot slowly with as much coverage as possible. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Eliot. I told you I wasn't just experimentally bisexual."

"Haaaa," Eliot replies, and Quentin takes that as his cue. He opens his mouth, covers his teeth with his lips, and holds Eliot's cock at the right angle to slot into him, depressing his tongue, carefully hitting the opening to his throat and pausing before closing his eyes to push past his gag reflex and take Eliot all the way into him.

"Oh my fuck," Eliot gasps out. His thighs start shaking. Quentin's smile is stretched but smug. "You perfect little slut, when did you learn _that_ and why didn't you tell me?"

Quentin lets Eliot's cock pull from his throat, takes a few deep breaths, and goes down again, further this time, until his lips are touching the two fingers and thumb he has wrapped around Eliot's base. Eliot actually whines, which is the best thing ever, given Quentin is generally intimidated by Eliot's experience and clear preference for guys. He lets Eliot rest in his throat for as long as he can hold it -- not near as long as he could when he was really practicing the skill, sadly -- before pulling off to suck careful breaths into his lungs, jacking Eliot smoothly while he catches his breath. 

"Fuck, sweetheart," Eliot says, looking dazed. "Those are some fine cocksucking skills. I'm proud of you."

Quentin smiles genuinely, knowing Eliot will understand what it means when his lips quirk to show his pleasure at the compliment. He doesn't smile a lot. It makes the muscles of his mouth ache as much as the deep-throating does. 

"I can keep going til you come," Quentin says, and Eliot's eyes flutter closed as Quentin's breath hits his sensitive cockhead. He jerks a little in Quentin's grasp, then goes tense when Quentin pushes back down. Quentin can hear clay tiles grinding against each other. 

"Fuck, I'm coming, I'm coming," Eliot rushes out, like he didn't expect it to happen just yet, like he can't keep it back any longer. Quentin feels Eliot shoot down his throat, resisting the urge to swallow, knowing he's clutching Eliot too hard and there'll be finger-shaped bruises tomorrow that Eliot will tease him about. 

When it feels like Eliot has finally finished, Quentin slowly draws back, breathing in slow and steady through his nose. Eliot's cock twitches slightly, a last burst of come on Quentin's tongue, and when he swallows he feels the soreness, the stretch. He sits back on his heels, feeling his lips with his thumb, feeling his smile steal onto his face. 

"Fuck," Eliot says succinctly, then collapses back onto the tiles, which Quentin knows from sad drunken experience is not a comfortable place to land. "You," Eliot continues, a little hoarse, "are an excellent fucking cocksucker and I would be happy to inform anyone who might contend otherwise. Except I don't want anyone in this fucking burg to know, so I can keep you all to myself."

"I'm a little discerning," Quentin says, also hoarse and always wry. 

Eliot's hand flops upward, finger pointing -- well, swaying -- in Quentin's general direction. "As you fucking should be. Fuck. That was an excellent orgasm. Maybe top fifteen."

Quentin cocks his head, considering. "I feel like I should take that, yet also have the ambition to strive for better," he says. 

"Fuck," is all Eliot manages in response. "Stay right there. When I regain my faculties you're getting it next."

Quentin palms his cock, half-hard from blowing Eliot, ignored while he was concentrating. "On the bed."

"Whatever you want, sweetheart."

**Author's Note:**

> Further author's notes available on [Dreamwidth](https://templemarker.dreamwidth.org/54381.html). 
> 
> If you liked it please consider [reblogging](https://templemarker.tumblr.com/post/184363210712/pace-is-the-trick-templemarker-the-magicians)!


End file.
